To the Ends of Death
by drama fixated
Summary: AU. I used to believe that death was formidable, something to dread and be afraid of, but I couldn't, even if I tried with all my might and heart, escape it.


Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series isn't mine; it belongs to J.K. Rowling and other related companies. Only the fic's mine. You really didn't expect for me to own HP, did you? Thought so.

Author's Note: This plot bunny turned fic could not have happened without **Jennifer** and **Kalie**, who forced (just kidding, more like encouraged) me to write this, so this is my thank you to them. Much thanks especially to **Jennifer** for taking the time to beta this and telling me what she thought of it.

**Important Note: **This is an AU (Alternate Universe) story, which is set in the forest regions of the Himalayas in India. Meaning? There's no magic or wizardry of any sort in this fic..so Harry and Hermione are mere Muggles. Nothing more, nothing less. And this is based on an Indian legend; I added some twists to it. Confusing twists, but twists nonetheless.

All right, enough of my ramblings! This is in Harry's POV, and he's in the future, thinking about his past. (Did that make any sense?)

- - -

I used to believe that death was formidable, something to dread and be afraid of, but I couldn't, even if I tried with all my might and heart, escape it. It was looming, seeming closer and closer to me every second, and I wanted to push it farther and farther away from me until I could no longer see it, sense its presence.

I didn't know why I was so, so . . afraid? timid? ashamed? of death . . I would have to go through it one day, and there was no way I could avoid it. Unless I wanted to become immortal – which I didn't want to be. I had seen enough of the world, the way it was, and how complex yet so simple-minded humans were, to not see the world and humanity anymore – nor see how it worked and thought. I didn't want to see any of that at all, any longer.

So when I went through the unimaginable with Hermione, what I thought about death changed – all because of her. And when I look back on it, I realize that it had been a good thing too – for it had saved her life, as well as mine.

I had been childhood friends with her, and as we grew up, I found myself falling in love with her – and she with me. We both went to our parents soon after we had confessed to the other that we loved each other, without any regrets, doubts and fears, and requested to marry. Before long, we found ourselves engaged, and as time went on, we were happy and relieved that we had decided to take a chance for us.

Even though we lived in separate houses that were far away from each other, I felt – no, knew – that in reality, we were as close as close could be – how far we lived from each other didn't matter. Not at all.

Maybe it was because we knew that we didn't need "distance" to determine how close we were. In our minds, it didn't exist. How far we lived from one another didn't matter, and didn't have a role in whether _we _would be close or not. And the same thing would happen if one of us went out of town, we thought.

We would always feel the other person's presence, even if in reality they weren't there with us, and we could see them and be comforted, knowing that they were near us. Hermione and I didn't need that kind of reassurance – we already _had _it, and we knew that no matter where we were, we would always feel as if we were near each other, and there was no distance between us.

And so life went on, as ordinary could get for us, after we were engaged. It was a peaceful existence, living near trees, plants, flowers, forest and river. It comforted us. Nature was always around us, in some way, form or movement.

Birds flew high above the dense canopy of trees, and often we could hear their cheerful chirps and bursts of songs in the morning and evening. The river flowed steadily, occasionally splashing water – I smile as I remember the many times Hermione and I had dunked each other underwater and had water fights, tumbling around on the grassy banks and in the cool, smooth current of the river.

All was normal, we believed. Until that fateful day arrived – when everything and everyone as I knew it, including Hermione, would never be the same. And _I _would never be the same, after that day. Just thinking about it now brings a chill to me, and a feeling of extreme thankfulness in my heart.

For on that day, I had nearly lost Hermione.

That day burns clearly in my mind, reminding me each second, each minute, each hour of every day how I nearly lost Hermione to death, and how grateful I should be to have her still with me now.

It never loses its grasp on me, and sometimes I have to relive that day in my mind, over and over again, trying to convince me that I was seeing an illusion, a faint wisp of a dream that I still clung to.

But I knew that wasn't true – what I had seen, felt and thought that day had _not _been an illusion, and what I was seeing now was definitely _not _a dream that I still clung to desperately, wanting for it to be true, only in the end it would never turn out that way.

I had been naively, joyfully picking out flowers for Hermione in the forest, knowing that she would be ecstatic when I gave her a bouquet of her favorite flowers, and even more so since I was the one who was giving them to her.

So while I had been happily picking flowers, Hermione had gone over to my house, thinking to visit me, only to find that I was not there. Wondering where I was, she searched for me – every hiding place and little corner – until she found me in the forest.

Worry etched on her face and remained there, even when she knew where I was. She was angry at me, since she had thought up the worst of worse case scenarios for me, and here I was, causing her unneeded panic by wandering into the forest. For all she knew, I could have been mauled or killed by the wild beasts that resided in the dark dampness of the forest.

She leaned against a nearby oak tree and waited for me impatiently. I sensed that she was there, and looked up, a wide grin spreading across my face. It slowly faded once I saw the anger marking her face, causing her eyes to flare and a scowl to cross her features.

I knew though that she wouldn't be angry for long – what she was feeling then was feigned fury at me, and once I gave her the lovely bouquet of flowers, she would blush furiously and smile at me, her anger quickly fading. But that didn't happen.

All of a sudden, her face froze, and she went pale. She looked fearfully at something on the ground and sucked in her breath. And, to my horror, she fell, a second becoming eternity. Getting up as inhumanly fast as I could, I ran over to her, and saw a flash of a slithery cobra escape – it had poisoned Hermione.

With a steadily sinking heart, I realized what this meant for her – what it meant for us. Somehow, my shaking body managed to sit itself down, and I lay her head in my lap, trying in every way I could think of – even if it was impossible – to get her to talk. But nothing helped – she could only give me a meaningful look, telling me not in words, but with her eyes, everything she was feeling right then.

She wanted me to save her life – she didn't want to die like this, lying helplessly in darkness with no hope of living. Very few people survived from a cobra bite, and I wished with all my mind, heart and soul – everything that I had – that she would be one of those few. If she died, how would I live? She was my life, my other half; the one person in my life who made me survive. If she died, I died too.

Slowly I shook myself free of the shock that had taken a hold of me, and became determined to do anything – even if it cost my life – to save Hermione.

I would not let her die – and when her family came to take her body soon after that, I refused to give her to them and prayed to every god I knew, hoping against hope that they would save her, or in the very least, figure out how to revive her. And to do that, I knew, I had to go to the place where death feared me – and where it could not stop me.

That night a softly glowing light appeared before me – and it turned out to be none other than Kalie, the goddess of Love. Surely, I thought, she would think of a way to make Hermione live – she was my sole hope now. And she understood my pain, having gone through the same thing herself. Even if she couldn't do anything then, she could do it now – for herself, the one she loved, and for us. She owed that to the people she loved and cared about.

And as I had thought before, Kalie did find a way – she told me how to enter the netherworld, and find Hermione's spirit. "There's a tiny line on the earth that separates it from the sky," she told me, "and below the line is the land of the dead."

"It separates the earth from the sky . ." I repeated. "But how . ."

Before I could say any more, she shook her head, and pointed a finger at a comet. I understood then. "A comet's streak separates the earth from the sky," she explained, and I found myself stunned. With a bittersweet look on her face, she left, vanishing into thin air.

Soon after that, I found myself in the murky shadowiness of the underworld, and I happened to be in the place where the spirits of people who had just died waited for their future, wondering where they would go. It was there that I found Hermione's spirit – but there was one problem.

One horrible thing gone wrong . . and that was the fact that the guardians of the netherworld wouldn't let me talk to her. A heavy feeling enveloped me as I talked with them for a long time – but then that evaporated when I spoke to Anubia, the goddess of Death. She was impressed by how much I deeply loved Hermione, and allowed her to live, on one condition.

"Hermione's exhausted her own life span," Anubia explained, "so the only way she can live a full life is to live the half of what's left of yours, Harry."

The only thing I could do was a nod, telling her that yes, I wanted to, and yes, I meant it. And if I didn't, the gods could shoot me down then and there.

Then, before I even knew it, I was back on earth, the feel of firm soil beneath my feet reminding me where I was, and – to my shock – Hermione was alive! Alive and breathing, and smiling happily at me, glad that I had saved her. Now she didn't have a doomed fate to look forward to – only a new, blissful beginning.

After that, we were married, and as the cliché ending goes, lived happily for the rest of our lives.

I used to believe that death was formidable, something to be afraid of – but now I knew the truth. Death wasn't something to be feared – and I was not timid anymore. Death was something to be celebrated – since it didn't make a person stop from living. It made them reborn.

And I was sure that Hermione felt the same way.


End file.
